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User blog:Tiddles0536/Fremennik tales:of the obscure
The tale of the Sunssworn, the advent of outlander. Long ago in a time before dragons, when all the races of man were one and lived together upon one island (whose name is lost) under the seven magister-gods, there was one by the name of Saradom the Sunssworn, for he pledged his self upon the sun and in turn did it pledge it's self upon him and their two selves became one symbiotic. But he nursed a hatred for the gods, and he convinced many to break away from the faithful (Fremmenik) people and travel with him to new lands. Saradom and his band of set out upon the void-sea on mighty longboats, settling islands in their wake and driving their inhabitants abroad. He established a mighty empire, reaping it's benefits with a strong hand and mind, but the magister-gods cursed him and the displaced natives did return atop a mighty tusked sea beast, an un-maker amalgamated of their hatred and tamed against Saradom and everything which fell under his dominion. Those who were not destroyed by the un-maker or dissolutioned from Saradom's service by the curse were led by him to the isle of the magister-gods, and Saradom did plead with them to show mercy, but they said only this: "You and those who follow you are no kin of ours, and are to be considered outlanders for all time. So it shall be." So Saradom gathered his people before him upon the few isles which still fell under his Old Dominion. It was a cold place, even for a Fremmenik, and Saradom did say: "I am Saradomin, god-spirit of the outlanders, and my migrant radiance will shelter you in warmth from the cold winds of this place for all time. Know that this land is my New Dominion, humbled and yet greatened from that dominion of old, and that under my guidance you shall prosper and settle an even greater land: The heart of the known sea." The tale of the curse, the advent of warfare. Long ago, in the advent of dragons and reliGion, the daemons of the void-sea began to plot against the races of men and beast and all that inbetween. They plotted and schemed up a curse the scale never known since the twin curses of dissolutionment and un-making. They danced around ritual circles and recited the songs-never-sung, sacrificing entire islands and dedicating the blood of their kings to it's concoction. Released upon the world it was a great chaos, overwhelming man, spirit and daemon alike with great anger and energy that they could do naught to get rid of until they combusted into their barest essence. Many spirits died alongside their concepts which can scarcely now be named in the advent of their un-making. Many other spirits were also at the point of death: Love, happiness, celebration and kindness were all among the dieing. One man saw opportunity, and swore himself before the curse to become it's symbiotic, tempering the rage and power conferred upon him to achieve greater, yet much accursed position among the god-spirits. At that time, there lived a kindly spirit among the Fremennik. He had a great many followers and was beloved by all (even outlanders), and despite his kindliness he was one of the greatest god-spirits come to bear. When the curse fell upon him, he was struck with such rage that he had never felt before (for indeed, he had never been struck with any rage at all). He shed his benevolent name-concept (whose name is now lost) and shaped it's detritus in a fury from which came the advent of warfare, arguement, and disagreement. It was a gift and a curse, and though many were grateful for it's creation they also came to be overwhelmed by it as well for a time, becoming violent and unruly and warring constantly amongst themselves. The other god-spirits praised the once-benevolent at length, but when they got close to him he would only lash out and scar them and ward them away. For a time after there was mourning for him, and the gods did set down laws of warfare to honour the once-benevolant's name so that it might never be sullied by deceit. The now accursed one did gather his followers around him and say: "I am Bandos, god-spirit of warfare, and you are my faithful warriors! Embrace my final teaching and spread your rage against the land, for that is your curse and mine and it will last until the Cursesworn draws his last breath at the end of time." Category:Blog posts